


Love Me Now

by jadepresley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, I kind of love it though, M/M, idk i havent written drarry in 84 years and was in a weird mood today and this came out, just nonsense really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 12:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16681534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadepresley/pseuds/jadepresley
Summary: It’s a slow kiss, unhurried and lazy, but Draco hears all the whispered words and promises from countless nights hidden under the sheets together, feels the ghost of every touch Harry has left on his body. Harry’s hand tightens on his neck, and Draco thinks he feels all of it, too.





	Love Me Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibaken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibaken/gifts), [QueenofThyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofThyme/gifts).



> Hi yes I don't really know what this is but I've been in a bit of a writing funk and today was weird and this was the result. I hope you like it because I do.
> 
> Dedicated to Chibaken and QueenofThyme. It's not a special occasion or anything, I just like to give them things.
> 
> Song title is taken from the Ziggy Alberts song "Love Me Now" aka my fave song of all time.

The early morning sun is soft where it touches Harry’s skin. It cascades over him through the gap between the heavy curtains, a single beacon of light casting bronze tones over his face, warm and delicate all at once. He had hastily drawn them closed the night before in their rush to get to bed, but Harry was never one for being thorough when his mind was on other tasks.

He’s still asleep, Draco realises as he slips back into their bedroom. It’s hot outside, unseasonably so, and with the windows and doors closed the room temperature hovers just on the side of being too warm. His hair, still damp from his shower, curls at his nape in protest of the muggy air.

Harry is beautiful like this. He’s on his back with an arm thrown carelessly above his head, his lips parted just slightly and his face free of the usual lines of worry that tend to occupy every part of him during the day. His bare chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm that has lulled Draco to sleep on more than one occasion.

Draco pulls his gaze away just long enough to open their dresser in search of a fresh shirt. The flowers Harry gave him three weeks ago are drooping terribly, dying petals scattered over the polished wood of the drawers and shrivelled leaves floating delicately on top of the water in the glass vase. The warm pinks and whites and yellows that had brightened the room like a loud burst of springtime have dulled, but Draco will hold onto the fading colours and dying fragrance until Harry insists it’s time to throw the withering bouquet away. Draco can never bear to toss the things Harry gives to him. He absently touches one of the fragile, once-pink petals and it breaks off, falling with a light twirl to join the others atop the dresser.

“Hey, come here,” comes a soft, sleep heavy voice from behind him.

Draco looks over and Harry’s eyes are half opened, as though he doesn’t really want to be awake yet but is fighting against the urge to let slumber take him again.

“I’m getting dressed,” Draco murmurs, and in the charm induced quiet of the room, lit only by that single burst of morning sunlight sneaking through the curtains, his voice still sounds too loud.

“Please?”

Harry pouts, petulant, and when Draco leaves this little sanctuary they’ve built for themselves he will put on his mask and become a man whose name strikes equal parts fear and respect among those who work for him, but while he’s here, being beckoned by the messy haired, sleep rumpled person he calls his own, Draco finds he can’t be anything but soft.   

He abandons his shirt and crosses the room, still holding his towel pinched closed with his thumb and forefinger. He sits at the edge of their bed and Harry’s hand reaches for him out of instinct, fingers like a soft whisper as they trail down Draco’s naked chest. His skin is hot against Draco’s.

“Hi,” he mumbles. His sleepy smile and bleary eyes make something warm and insistent unfurl in Draco’s chest. Harry is lovely like this, when he first wakes up. Delicate and vulnerable in a way nobody else would ever believe, in a way nobody but Draco gets to see. This version of Harry only exists for the two of them.

His fingers are on Draco’s stomach, tracing lazy patterns on his skin with light, barely there touches that make Draco’s muscles quiver.

“Good morning,” Draco whispers, barely loud enough for his own ears. He brushes Harry’s hair back off his forehead and Harry’s eyelashes flutter and close. There is a thin sheen of sweat over his brow, highlighted by the sun streaming over his face. Draco swipes his thumb across it, then leans forward and presses a slow kiss to Harry’s temple. Harry exhales, like a gentle sigh of relief, and his fingers clench at the top of Draco’s towel.

These are Draco’s favourite moments; when the outside world isn’t real anymore, when it’s just the two of them, existing in a quiet place together without any weight or expectations to distract them. When everything in his universe is suspended to revolve around the feeling of Harry beneath him, Harry above him, just _Harry_ with him.

His lips linger on Harry’s skin. He inhales, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and last nights cologne, of the musk that seems permanently embedded in all of Draco’s jumpers now because Harry steals them (though he pretends he doesn’t).

“S’too bright,” Harry complains, turning his head away from the window. Draco smiles as he pulls back. He braces his arms on either side of Harry’s head, and Harry looks up at him and blinks slightly unfocused eyes. They shimmer in the morning light, bright despite their sleep filled haze; Draco’s favourite shade of emerald.

Draco wonders when it was he stopped being so afraid of the enormity of the love he feels when he looks at Harry. He wonders when seeing it reflected back in every expression on Harry’s face became familiar, comforting, rather than something he felt like he didn’t deserve.

Harry reaches up and he draws Draco closer with a hand on his nape. The sun catches Draco’s skin too as he’s pulled into it, casting them both in it’s unrelenting glow.

“I love the way you feel after you shower,” Harry breathes out, almost a sigh against Draco’s lips. Draco can already feel the uncomfortable prickle of sweat on his back from the heat of the room, but he’s helpless for Harry’s touch and he won’t pull away. Harry’s fingers tangle lightly in his hair, and the two stay suspended in front of one another, neither one in a hurry to close the space between them, content to inhale one another’s breaths, to exist in each moment as it comes.

Draco shifts his weight to one arm and cups Harry’s cheek with his free hand. The scratch of stubble against his palm as he drags his thumb over the hard line of Harry’s jaw reminds him of the Harry that is loud and opinionated and has sharp edges and a shell so tough not many can get through it, but that Harry isn’t here now. This Harry -- Draco’s Harry -- leans his cheek closer into Draco’s touch, chases the stroke of his fingers on his skin when Draco makes to move away. This Harry tilts his chin just enough to let his lips brush over Draco’s, another soft breath escaping into the brief press.

“Let’s stay home today,” Harry murmurs. His words ghost over Draco’s mouth like a barely there breeze in the summer; teasing but not enough, so Draco kisses him, and when their lips come together it’s like that first breath of relief after swimming underwater for too long.

It’s a slow kiss, unhurried and lazy, but Draco hears all the whispered words and promises from countless nights hidden under the sheets together, feels the ghost of every touch Harry has left on his body. Harry’s hand tightens on his neck, and Draco thinks he feels all of it, too.

Draco lets go of Harry’s cheek and blindly seeks out his free hand, lacing their fingers together against the mattress when he finds it. He'll never get tired of all the seamless ways they slot together.

“Okay,” he mumbles into Harry’s mouth, not willing to separate any more than this to speak. "We can stay here."

Harry is smiling against his lips. He’s happy, Draco knows.

They both are.


End file.
